First Kiss
by squelchything
Summary: Luke Skywalker is almost sixteen and has never kissed a girl. What's a boy to do? Innocently humourous.


It was a lazy afternoon, too late in the year for many sandstorms, too early for there to be heavy work on the farms, so Toschi Station's back room was full of lounging boys. Luke Skywalker was playing the games machine in the corner and keeping very quiet as the others discussed two sisters who'd just moved to Anchorhead from Mos Eisley. 

"So which one would you go for, Tank?" Windy asked. 

Tank considered briefly. 

"The older one—Alixi. Friya's pretty, but she's too skinny—not enough of a handful, if you know what I mean." 

They snickered. 

"Like the older women, eh Tank?" Fixer teased. 

"Not that it's any good when they're both swooning after Biggs," Deak said gloomily. "How does he do it?" 

Biggs grinned self-consciously and shook his head. Luke, in his corner, considered the question seriously. 

"He has a very nice speeder..." 

It was a mistake. If Deak and Tank had little luck with girls, Luke had less, and they turned on him instantly. 

"Like you'd know anything about it!" Deak crowed. 

"Shut up," Luke snapped—Deak was six months younger than he was, and had been smaller until a couple of years ago, so he was the only one whom Luke could cheek without being hit. 

"Wormie's never even kissed a girl—he's never even held a girl's hand," Tank said. 

"How'd you know I haven't?" Luke retorted. The boys laughed derisively. Biggs didn't laugh, but he said, "We'd know all about it if you had, Luke," and rolled his eyes at the ceiling, which stung Luke worst of all. 

"Maybe you wouldn't—why would I tell you lot anything?" 

"In your _dreams_, Wormie," Fixer jeered. "Maybe you kissed your dream girl!" 

Luke had once told Camie about the dark-eyed friend he dreamed about, sometimes, when they had been younger—he too young to know any better—and she had been being nice to him. Of course that had been equivalent to telling all Anchorhead. He'd regretted it for years—Fixer and Windy and everyone jeering and saying snide things about something very precious. 

"She's not that sort of dream girl," Luke protested. "She's my—" 

But he ran out of words, and went out of the power station instead, slamming the door hard behind him. He wandered along its front, feet scuffing the sand. _Sixteen in three weeks and I've never kissed a girl! I'm never going to get a girlfriend—I'm going to be celibate for the rest of my _life!_ Suns above, _Fixer's_ got a girlfriend! I mean, it's Camie, but still...I wouldn't mind kissing Camie, even._

Luke sighed. Unlike Biggs, who was rich and tall and good-looking, and had a fast speeder, Luke came from a sand-poor farm family, was short and skinny, was just plain _different_. Everyone else had a normal family—he loved Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen, but it wasn't the _same_—everyone else didn't know things they couldn't possibly have known, everyone else didn't dream... 

It didn't help that he looked so much younger than he was—Alixi Windchaser had said he was 'cute' and 'a sweet kid', and ruffled his hair. And to top it off, she'd called him 'Lukie'. No-one called him that any more, except Aunt Beru, sometimes. It was ridiculous, at his age! There weren't many girls in Anchorhead anyway—there was Camie, who was nice to him when it suited her and teased him mercilessly when it didn't, and the two Windchaser girls, and Biggs' little sister and a few others her age, who mostly _giggled_ and called him 'Wormie'. That was even worse than 'Lukie'. 

He heard a footstep—Emmi Darklighter herself, weighed down with what looked like her month's shopping. 

"You don't want to go in there," he told her. "They're talking about girls." 

"Oh," Emmi said, a roll of shirt material slipping from beneath her arm. "I was hoping Biggs could help me with this lot—_stupid_ boys!" 

Luke took the roll from her. 

"Am I stupid?" 

Emmi flushed slightly, flipping one dirty-blonde plait over her shoulder. 

"A little bit—not as stupid as, say, Windy." 

She muttered something that sounded like, "Can't see what's under your nose," then asked, "Where's Biggs parked his speeder?" 

"Round the back," Luke said, following her—he still had her shopping. Biggs' speeder was considerably flashier than Luke's, which was older than he was. He gave it the usual envious glance as he helped Emmi load her bags into it, and leaned back against the wing, clasping his hands behind him. 

"Biggs likes Friya Windchaser," Emmi volunteered. 

"I know," Luke said. "That'll please Tank—he likes Alixi." 

Emmi laughed. "I suppose they're all in there talking about how many girls they've supposedly kissed?" 

"Yes," Luke said miserably. "I haven't...ever. Kissed anyone, I mean." 

"Oh," Emmi said. "Me neither." 

"Would you—no, I, that's—" 

"Would I what?" 

"NevermindIjusthought—" 

Emmi gave him a sharp look. 

"Luke, were you just about to ask me to _kiss you_?" 

Luke felt himself turn crimson, and he hastily stared at the ground, too embarrassed to do anything but nod. 

"All right." 

Luke's head jerked up. 

"What?!" 

"All right. Kiss me." 

"Are you—" Luke started to ask, but stopped. He put his hands on her shoulders—she was nearly as tall as he was, but a lot of people were. How, he thought panickily, did you kiss someone, exactly? What did you do with your _nose_? 

He leaned towards Emmi, his heart beating so hard he was sure she could hear it, and planted his mouth on hers. He remembered a second too late that people on the holoflicks shut there eyes when they kissed, and shut his. Emmi's mouth felt warm and soft against his—_Nice_, he thought. Very _nice._ He started to lift his head, but Emmi gave a little sigh, her breath brushing his cheek, and put a hand behind his head. He kissed her again, a bit more lingeringly this time, her fingers winding in his hair. 

Then they pulled apart, met each other's eyes and looked away self-consciously, both rather flushed. Luke looked at the ground, grinning broadly, and decided he knew now why people liked kissing so much. 

"Emmi—" he began, not sure what he was going to say. 

"Shht! Here's Biggs—don't let's tell him, he'd kill us!" 

The door of the power station slammed behind Biggs, and Luke was fervently glad his friend hadn't arrived twenty seconds earlier. 

"Hey, kids," Biggs greeted them cheerfully. "Em, did you leave _any_ stock in the Anchorhead stores? What're you smirking about, hotshot?" 

He gave Luke an affectionate noogie and released him, rather rumpled. Luke flattened his hair down, turning scarlet again as he remembered what Emmi had been doing to it a minute ago. 

"You coming to ours for lunch, Luke?" Emmi asked. He nodded. 

"Wizard—I'll race you home!" Biggs challenged. 

"You're on!" Luke said—he felt as if he could fly to the moons, let alone beat Biggs in a race. 

"I'll come with you," Emmi said. 

"You're sure you want to? He'll scare you," Biggs teased. 

"I don't want to be there if you spill that bantha milk," Emmi retorted. "Yeah, I'm sure." 

She and Luke scrambled into his battered speeder and swooped off. 

Perhaps Biggs was being careful of the milk, or perhaps Luke's tinkering had brought his speeder to the capabilities of Biggs's, but despite driving one-handed, he pulled up in the Darklighter's front yard a full ten seconds before Biggs. 

Under the dashboard, out of sight of Biggs, Luke's left hand was clasped firmly round Emmi's. 


End file.
